


Dead End Lover

by AphoticW



Series: Dead End Lover [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Apocalypse, Artist Victor Nikiforov, Backstory, Bearded Victor Nikiforov, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cussing, Drinking, End of the World, Facial Shaving, Fluff and Humor, France (Country), Gay Katsuki Yuuri, Gay Victor Nikiforov, Haircuts, Hairstylist Yuuri Katsuki, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Makeup Artist Katsuki Yuuri, Makkachin Lives, Military Backstory, Post-Apocalypse, Rated for Cussing and Sexual Themes, Shaving, Stuntman Katsuki Yuuri, Suspense, Travel, Use of Historical Names/Places, Victor Nikiforov Spelled with a K, Victor spelled with a k, War Journalist Victor Nikiforov, Weapons, Writer Victor Nikiforov, backpacking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 02:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17437796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AphoticW/pseuds/AphoticW
Summary: He couldn’t bear to see another tortured soul be crushed. He didn’t want to put himself through that. He had seen the way husband’s howled over the bodies of their wives. Children squawking for lost parents and dogs roaming aimlessly for an owner they’d never find. It was easier this way. But why was this young man cracking the very foundation he fought so hard to maintain?Apocalypse AU/One Shot/Hurt&Comfort&Humor





	Dead End Lover

**Author's Note:**

> I had this one shot written up for a little over a week and I kept adding and adding to it until I was satisifed with it. I'm a sucker for apocalypse AUs. The title of this came from the Richard Walters song Dead End Lover.

Life had been simple.

No, that’s a lie.

Life had not been simple before the war--before the bombs.

So, so many. He wasn’t even sure of the count anymore. He hadn’t seen a soul in over three months. 

The vast lands he had travelled were starting to blur, and the calls of leftover wildlife swirled all around him. Mocking him, berating him for wandering like a nomad. Not finding a home. He never paid much time to the familiar birds before until now. Their squalls reminded him of the seaside and home. 

Home was thousands of miles away. He didn’t miss the bitter wind nipping at his throat or harsh landscaping--never ending. Barcelona was nothing like home, but the pandemonium after the first wave of bombs was probably no different than what he would have experienced back in Russia. He had heard Russia locked down their borders ultimately barring anyone from leaving--anyone from escape the rampage. 

Once in awhile another would shake the Earth, but nothing like that first week. No man left behind as rubble raced it’s way to the ground and children were left to fend for theirselves. Rains followed the week after flooding the cracks of the broken landscape and washing away what bodies were left. He thanked his lucky stars that he was on a business trip at the time. He couldn’t even imagine what his friends had gone through. . . If they had made it. 

The sun was starting to set over the everlasting hills ahead of him, and he was elated to see a small village off in the distance. He yanked out his map and binoculars that were tucked away in the straps of his rucksack. He unfolded the map and spotted the last time he marked it. The black dot was embedded very close to Le Port, France. He had decided to trek through the wilderness after his car broke down around the Spanish-French border. That had been about almost three months ago. 

He snatched the binoculars to zone in on the mountain side town, and saw now sign of life flittering about. Some of the mighty mountains had shook so violently that the rocks slide into the buildings crumbling them in its path. The village was very homey like a place he would have escaped to write that novel he kept promising himself to put on paper. A place where nothing could harm you it seemed, but nothing could escape the reaches of a nuclear blast. He caught the sight of a sign at the side of the main road. 

Biert. 

He dropped the binoculars back to around his neck and calculated the kilometers he had left until his destination. He never had been great with numbers, but having to calculate your every move at the end of the night caught him up to speed real quick. 

He had about over six hundred kilometers left, but that didn’t account for hazards on his journey. He was on his way to Switzerland. He had heard there was a refuge just off the shorelines of Lake Geneva. A suave man with short cropped hair had mentioned he had come from there. 

The man was otherworldly with such enthusasim about their dire situation. He had driven from Geneva to the border when he had run out of gas. He had flagged down the stranger’s car, but denied a ride when he realized the other man was heading to Portugal. His true destination had been Paris, but after hearing the shambles it was left in he soon changed course. 

He had been hoping to take refuge in the city of love. He wanted to see the Louvre one last time before it fell into the Earth below. Art was his life and now it was almost non-existent in his travels. He had run out of paper sometime ago and writing utensils were slim to none. He wished to spin tales of his adventures on the go, but he could keep them locked up for the future. A possible future where he hoped he could go back to writing books and traveling distant lands in safety. He had to keep them at the ready to mark spaces on the map or to leave notes for other travelers about the dangers ahead.

The man sighed profoundly and heaved his belongings with him as he trucked down the hillside. Rocks tumbled next to him as he pushed debris out of the way with his worn boots. He almost tripped over a rogue branch, but caught his balance easily.

The local village was definitely abandoned as he drew closer to the buildings. A few cars remained and he scouted them as he passed by. He knew he wasn’t fortunate enough to find one with keys still in the ignition. Once he was deeper into the quaint village, he swung the shotgun from its position on his shoulder to hold it in his grasp. It may seem desolate, but he could never be too cautious. Especially the few situations he had found himself in on the way here. He didn’t need a repeat of his most recent stabbing.

His boots made a lot of unnecessary noise as he kept on down the main road. It was starting to grow dark. He had to find shelter before the sun set. Off in the distance beyond the hills he could see a storm brewing. The roaring clouds darkened as they drew closer. Fearful and towering. 

How he missed the weather application on his phone. The useless piece of junk he, nevertheless, carried. He knew it was no use with all the cell towers down, but it comforted him deep down. It set the spark of hope that one day he might need it again. He deeply hoped he would need it again.

Soon enough he identified a local market up ahead and figured that would be his best bet for tonight or however long the incoming storm would stay. The door was chained shut from the inside once he reached the entrance. He huffed out an agitated sigh before briskly walking to the side of the building. He had been right in his thoughts, there was a wood side door. The door easily gave in when he struck it with the butt of his gun. He immediately flicked the flashlight on the strap of his rucksack on and entered the building. 

He shut the door behind him before walking a few steps and stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of something clattering. It sounded like empty soup cans rolling lazily against the concrete. He pumped the shotgun in his hands once and brought it up from his hip. He surveyed the room meticulously trying to find the source of the noise, but it was eerily silent. He counted out his steps as he made it to the back office of the market and kicked the door open softly with the side of his foot. 

He immediately noted the messy cot off to the side of the room. Men’s clothing was tossed messily over the bed. The untidiness of the room irked him a bit, but he forced it far out of his mind. There was opened cans littering the floor, and a flashlight was rolling lazily under said cot. It was still on. 

He tucked the weapon closer into his shoulder as he stepped into the room. He heard the crunch of a candy bar wrapper under his boot, and a thump near the desk drew his attention. He listened attentively and could definitely detect faint breaths coming from under the desk. Whatever was under the desk was panting like a rabid dog.

“Come out!” He ordered in his mother tongue. “I am armed.”

What he didn’t expect was an actual dog emerging from the desk shaking nervously. The brown mutt whined wearily at him as he lowered his weapon just a smidge. That’s when everything went black. 

~

Wetness caked his skin and a rough tongue chased away the sweat trickling down his temples. He could sense a wet nose digging about in his unruly beard and he so desperately wanted to bat away whatever was assaulting his face. However, his hands were bound he realized. The scratchy rope dug into his nimble wrists and he hissed at the friction. He fought against the restraints again before opening his hooded eyes. 

He was still in the back office, but he was behind the desk this time strapped to the desk chair. He noticed there was a man sitting on the desk in front of him restraining the dog from him. The man had a ski mask over his face and shooed the dog away after a few seconds. He had a pistol in his right hand and rightfully had it pointed at him. 

“Untie me.” He ordered in fluent Russian.

“I don’t speak whatever that is. Do you speak English?” 

The man had a slight accent, but he couldn’t put his finger on where it was from. He glared fiercely at his captor and growled lowly in his throat. 

“I do.”

“Good. Now, what are you doing here?”

“I was looking for shelter. What else do you think I would be doing?” He replied. 

“I’ve been around the block long enough now to keep my guard up. You probably do as well since you were carrying an obscene number of weapons. What’s your name?” 

“Why would I tell you that?”

“And why don’t I just shoot you?” The man countered. He could detect a hint of a smile behind the black ski mask. He had a dazzling smile--it was almost distracting, but his eyes caught sight of the pistol again. He rolled his eyes while situtating himself in the chair. 

“My name is Viktor. My intentions were not to harm you. It was getting dark and I was seeking shelter. I thought the village was evacuated.” Viktor explained. 

“And why should I believe you? Are you traveling with others?”

“No. I am not.” 

The man cocked the gun and stood. He wasn’t significantly tall probably a few inches shorter than himself. He was built like a brick house, however. Lean muscle stretched vastly under his long sleeve shirt. The thought left his mind as the pistol was pressed to his temple and the man was leaning closer to him. 

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Viktor?” The man said with his finger lingering close to the trigger. Viktor finally noticed he had dark brown eyes--he was definitely Asian descent. 

“I can leave in the morning. I just need supplies and a place to sleep.” Viktor offered with confidence. The man backs off and clicks the safety on to his weapon before tucking it into the waistband of his jeans. He leaned back to whip off his ski mask, and tufts of ebony hair fell listlessly around his face. His hair was cropped short and neater than his own. He quirked an eyebrow at the captive before releasing his bonds and stepping away. 

“Where are my weapons?” Viktor questioned as he stood on rickety knees.

“Locked up until you leave. I am not taking the chance that you were lying.” The man replied as he slumped down to the ground and tinkered with the firepit near his feet. He mumbled for a few minutes before striking some flint to ignite the fire. He stoked it violent with the butt of his bowie knife, and glanced back over to Viktor.

“You’re welcome to sit.” He motioned towards the box at the other end of the fireplace. 

Viktor stepped over to the box and parked himself on it. The box almost crumbled under his weight, but it held up. It was pleasant to have some heat for once. He had exhausted all his firestarters and had been eating cold canned beans for the past week. He heard some metal clanking and noticed the man was holding up two cans. He clicked them together once more to grab Viktor’s attention.

“Cabbage soup or potatoes with cheese?” The man questioned as he held out both cans. 

He thought on his options for a moment and pointed to the cabbage one. The man nodded and started to crack open the can. 

“What’s your name?” 

“My name is Yuuri.” 

“Yuuri. I had a friend named Yuri back in Russia. Spitfire of a kid.” Viktor chuckled as he relaxed against the wall behind him. Yuri had been a very close friend of Viktor’s. A comrade he would say. Significantly younger than him, but had a good head on his shoulders. Viktor took pride in helping mold the young man during his time with him. He wondered how Yuri was fairing during all this. . . From what Viktor taught him he believed--no, he knew the man was doing just fine.

It was starting to grow warmer in the tiny room, so he unwrapped his scraggly scarf and tossed it into the corner of the room along with his leather gloves. They fell onto the concrete with a dull thud.

“How did you find this town? It’s pretty high up in the mountains. I figured no one would be walking through this terrain especially this close to winter.” Yuuri explained as he dumped the contents of the cabbage soup into a worn-out pot. The soup crackled and sizzled upon impact and some of it splattered onto Yuuri’s hand. He wiped it lazily onto his jeans and began stirring the soup slowly. 

“I have a map of France. I found it along the border when I crossed over from Spain.”

“Spain? Where were you when . . . The bombs started?”

“Barcelona. I stayed there for a month to help others, but soon enough it became occupied with dangerous people. I left with a group, but disbanded a month later. There was a lot of arguments over leadership, and I had a destination in mind.” Viktor explained. He yelped softly when he felt coarse fur swipe across his hand. He glanced down to see a brown mass lying down by his feet. The dog panted happily near the fire and nudged Viktor’s leg for pats. The Russian leaned down to spread his fingers through the fur delicately. 

“Where were you intentionally heading?”

“Paris. I was hoping to see the Louvre one last time.” He laughed softly to himself. “I know it’s ridiculous, but --”

“It’s not ridiculous. I can tell you however Paris is not what it used to be.”

“I’m aware. I met a Swiss man a few months ago that said Paris was in pieces.”

“I was in Paris when it happened. I was there visiting a friend on a layover.” Yuuri said, and he peered over the rim of the pot with squinted eyes. He mumbled incoherently to himself before reaching over to a shoebox. He fumbled in it for a second and yanked out a pair of glasses. He shoved them onto his face. He instantly took them off and used his tattered shirt to wipe away the dust on the lenses. He blinked a few times when they were back on his face and sighed contently.

“That’s better. I can’t really wear the glasses with the ski mask. Doesn’t make me look very intimidating, does it?” Yuuri chuckled. Viktor noticed the man was getting more comfortable with his presence by his demeanor. He probably didn’t sense any fear with him anymore. This was a good thing. He needed to be able to get as much out of this small town while he had that chance. He was about to comment on the style of his glasses when roaring thunder shook the small building. 

The faithful dog at his feet whimpered and hugged its body closer to his legs. Yuuri leaned forward and held out his hand to the animal. The dog licked his hand gently, and Viktor could hear the dog’s tail whip back and forth behind him. 

“Storm sounds close.”

“It’s probably about five klicks away.” **[1]**

Yuuri titled his head like a troubled dog at Viktor’s wording. He opened his mouth like he was going to make a comment, but thunder shook the small drugstore once more.

“Make that four.” Viktor chuckled.

“So, you had said you were in Barcelona before it happened. What were you doing there?” Yuuri questioned as he yanked out some metal bowls. He started ladling the food into the bowls and Viktor noticed that one definitely had more soup than the other. He received the heavier bowl while Yuuri took the smaller portion.

“I was there for work. I’m a am--was a war journalist. I was meeting with some politicians from Spain about their plans for the future. I had just come back from the Middle East and was excited about the calm.” Viktor said as he scratched his unruly beard. 

Yuuri hummed in acknowledgement as he kept stuffing his mouth with the hearty soup. Viktor did the same, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. However, the silence was interrupted by Yuuri laughing to himself. 

“What’s so funny?” Viktor said around the food in his mouth. Yuuri chuckled again and set the food aside to grab a cloth. He tossed it over to Viktor, and it landed carelessly in his lap. 

“Most of your food ended up in your beard.”

Viktor blinked for a few seconds and grasped the cloth. He ran it through the itchy hair and glanced down at the cloth. The man hadn’t been lying--there was pieces of cabbage, sticky red soup, and even some leaves within it. 

“Shit. I’m sorry. I usually have more manners than this.”

“Do you have a shaving kit?” Yuuri questioned as he stood to place his plate in front of the dog. The bit of scraps left over were lapped up immediately. 

“No, I don’t. I don’t trust any loose razors in case they were used.” Viktor murmured as he also finished his meal and set the bowl down as well. The dog yipped happily at the second meal and dug in. Yuuri was rummaging around in another box and slipped out a canvas case. He held it up and walked back over to Viktor. 

“If you need to shave it, I have an unused kit. It was in this market. You can have it if you want.” 

Viktor sucked in through his teeth and leaned back in his sturdy seat. He tapped his battered fingers against his belly in thought.

“I don’t know if I want to shave it all off. I kind of like the beard.” He said while stroking it. Yuuri rolled his eyes at the man.

“I could shape it for you?” 

“Excuse me?”

“I can cut back the length--shape it to your face if you really want.”

“Eh, I don’t know. I’d rather have a professional do it, but those a far and few.”

“Well, you are in luck. I am professional. I’m hair and make-up stylist. I worked on Hollywood films. I was also a stuntman for a bit.” Yuuri explained so casually. Viktor jumped out of his seat and inspected the man closer. He had to admit, the man was impeccably well cared for even during an apocalypse. 

“Are you pulling my leg?” 

“Of course not,” Yuuri laughed. “Let me clean you up. It’s the least I can do for pointing a gun in your face.”

Viktor mumbled to himself before yanking off his bulky coat and slipping off the knit hat he had on. His hair had gotten extremely long as well and Yuuri noticed instantly. He stepped forward to take hold of the strands falling in front of his face. He grinded the hairs between his fingers as he inspected his scalp. 

“You’ll need a wash. Your hair is so fine. You shouldn’t wear a hat, or you’ll get a bald spot.” Yuuri stated as he brushed past him. Viktor’s hands flew up to touch his hair. 

“Wait, what?” Viktor called out. 

“You’re already prematurely grey. You don’t want to lose all your hair too?” Yuuri continued his jokes as Viktor followed the smaller man. He was taken into the communal bathroom, and Yuuri jerked a rickety chair out and pointed to it. Viktor sat down in the chair and heard the creaking of the wood under his weight. He glanced on either side of the chair to fully check it was safe. 

Yuuri suddenly gripped the edges of the chair and pulled it over to the sink in the restroom. He tilted the chair back with his foot and Viktor yelled out at the slight sensation of practically falling. Once his shoulders rested back against the granite he relaxed. 

“Jesus, you’re strong.” Viktor stated as he evened out his erratic breathing. 

“A stunt man, remember?” Yuuri commented as he grabbed a few supplies from under the sink. He had a few different types of bottles and another canvas pack. “Water is cold, but I’m sure you are used to it.”

Soon his head was being dowsed with a cup full of water. He brushed the grey strands back as he made sure to fully dampen the other man’s hair. Yuuri was humming as he combed through the hair gently. He could hear the squelching of shampoo as Yuuri lathered it up in his hands and began massaging his scalp. 

Viktor had realized this was the first time he had been touched so intimately in awhile. He relaxed into the hairstylist’s touch and was very close to dozing off. However, he was shaken of any sleep by the frigid water washing away the suds. Yuuri patted dry his fine hair before positioning him back up. 

“Let me grab my scissors and comb.” Yuuri mentioned as he was back to rummaging under the sink again. “War journalist, huh? I’m sure you are used to conditions like this.” 

“I can say I was more readily prepared than most. I spent some time in mandatory service in Russia.” 

“You never said where you were heading before your Paris plans changed. Where to now?” 

Viktor pondered for a moment. He wasn’t sure if he should tell his plans to this almost stranger. He was still on edge around him since he very casually had a gun pointed at him a few hours ago. It wasn’t he didn’t fully trust Yuuri. He just didn’t trust others. 

What if Yuuri was captured after he had left and compromises the safe house location?

What if Yuuri wasn’t really who he said, and he was working with the enemy?

“No where now.” He lied through gritted teeth. He didn’t need anyone potentially following him to the only safe haven he had heard of. Nations and countries were no longer a thing--it was bands of humans. Governments had shutdown, miliaries disbanded, and just people surviving on their own. The only person that he trusted was himself, but he had never really given the chance for anybody else to get close. 

He couldn’t bear to see another tortured soul be crushed. He didn’t want to put himself through that. He had seen the way husband’s howled over the bodies of their wives. Children squawking for lost parents and dogs roaming aimlessly for an owner they’d never find. It was easier this way. But why was this young man cracking the very foundation he fought so hard to maintain?

“Do you plan on staying in this city forever?” Viktor asked as the comb ran through his tangled locks.

“You actually were unlucky to find me still here. I planned on heading Northeast in the next few days.” Yuuri stated easily. The swish of scissors was what he heard next. Clipping away at the hairs at the back of his head. 

“Northeast? Where are you trying to get to?” He was hoping that maybe Yuuri’s honesty would lead more to his character. He needed to know if this man was someone he could trust.

“Nowhere in particular. I traveled a lot for my job, but never got to sight see. Now is as good as time as any. I’m from Japan originally, but I’ve heard it is one of the most dangerous places currently. Luckily, my family is in the United States back in California . . . I think.”

“Why aren’t you trying to get to them?” Viktor asked as Yuuri pushed his head forward to get the hairs at the back of his neck with something sharp. It felt like a razor, but it was a single blade. 

Yuuri walked around to stand in front of Viktor and rested his hands on his upper thighs as he examined his hair. That’s when Viktor saw the straight razor. The one that had been being used at the back of his neck. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the weapon, but sustained his panic. 

“Do you really have to use a straight razor on me? Don’t you have a disposable one?”

“No, I don’t. It gets a closer shave. To answer your initial question, what would be the point? I’m stuck on this continent for now, and they’re there. We had a happy parting before the warfare and I am content with our separation. I wish them nothing but luck like they would for me.” Yuuri explained and set down the straight razor behind Viktor. 

He had his scissors once more, and he was clipping away once. Viktor could see the waterfall of sheared hair float to the ground. He didn’t realize how long his hair had gotten until Yuuri stepped back once more. He stared for a few moments before claiming he was finished with his hair. Yuuri handed him a small vanity mirror, and Viktor took in his new haircut.

It was lengthier on the top than the side. He liked the Japanese man had left it that length so that he still had some semblance of hair. The sides were cropped short, and the back of head was faded nicely. Despite not having electric shears he did a relatively excellent job. 

“Now, I’m going to do your beard. How short would you like it?” Yuuri questioned as he dampened his hands with the running water. 

“Just neater and closer to my face.” He replied and jumped a bit in shock when Yuuri appeared in front of him. The smaller man crouched in between his knees and stared directly at his face. Viktor gulped at the uncomfortable position but averted his eyes to the ceiling. 

Yuuri took his time trimming his beard with the scissors. It wasn’t more than five minutes when he was finished. From his pocket out swung the straight razor and he handed a wet cloth to Viktor.

“Wet your face.” He commanded. Viktor nodded before dabbing his face with the wet material, and then tossing it behind him on the counter. He could see the inky stains on the cloth from his dusty face. He’d had to take advantage of the clean water before he left. Yuuri tilted his back, and his fingertips traced his jawline gently mapping out his face.

“Don’t move. I don’t want to nick you.” 

“Maybe we should just leave it be? It’s probably fine the way it is.” 

“Do you trust me?” Yuuri asked huskily as he leaned a knee in between Viktor’s thighs. Viktor’s breath caught in his throat as the man drew closer to him and his touch traced even softer. 

“Go ahead.” 

“All right, stay still.” 

The scrap of the razor sent chill down his spine since there was no lather. Yuuri’s brow furrowed as he concentrated on getting the angles just right. This process took longer than his haircut, but it was honestly more relaxing for Viktor. All too soon Yuuri was finished when he sat back with his knee still planted firmly on the chair. 

“I think you’ll like it.” Yuuri stated as he leaned over Viktor’s body to grasp the mirror once more. He snatched it up off the counter to hold it in front of Viktor’s face. The hairs were finely trimmed to his face, and he could finally see himself for once. His face had grown gaunt over the months mostly likely from malnutrition, but he didn’t look half bad. The way Yuuri cut his hair gave him a sense of older elegance. 

“Thank you,” Viktor said as he turned his head side to side. “It suits me.” 

“Viktor?”

“Hmm?” Viktor said as he placed the mirror down back behind him and stared back at Yuuri. The Japanese man had placed both of his hands on either side of Viktor’s body on the chair arms. Viktor’s breath caught in his throat when his tender hands reached up to thread through the short hairs on his cheek. Yuuri kept inspecting his face, but he had a different expression on his face than before. His hands moved North and carded through his thin hair. Yuuri let the strands fall easily to mask over Viktor’s moist forehead.

“What’s wrong, Yuuri?” Viktor questioned with a shaky voice. 

Yuuri retracted his hands and removed his knee from the seat. He brushed off his pants as he stood and resituated his clothing while clearing his throat. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s okay. You just spaced out for a moment.” Viktor said with a laugh as he stood. “Sometimes my looks tend to do that.”

“Ass,” Yuuri rolled his eyes as he cleaned up his supplies and leads the way back to the small back room. Yuuri sat down on his cot and observed as Viktor yanked one out of his seabag himself. Viktor was fortunate he had all the supplies at the ready when he had to flee during the attacks. He especially loved the cot he kept for times like these. It was better than sleeping on the ground. 

“Um, where would you like me to put this?” Viktor asked as he held the rods in his hands and the rumpled mattress under his arm. Yuuri pointed over to the opposite side of the room behind Viktor and the Russian nodded. 

Within moments he had it all set up and was dusting off his clothing before carefully removing his shirt and jeans. He glanced over his shoulder to see the smaller man quickly lie down on his right side. Viktor chuckled at the hasty movement and climbed into his bed. Viktor reached down to snatch a book out of his rucksack and stuck a tiny pen flashlight in his mouth. He angled it correctly, so it shined softly on the pages he was trying to read. He would have to gather some batteries as well for all his flashlights while he was here. He made a mental note of it.

He had got through a chapter or two before he heard shuffling from the other side of the room. His eyes shifted over to see Yuuri on his back staring at the ceiling. He flicked the light off and used it as a bookmark in his novel before setting it down. 

“Can’t sleep?” Viktor called out hesitantly.

Yuuri jumped at the sound of his bellowing voice and turned onto his left side to look at him. There wasn’t any light so it was hard to make out both of their faces. Viktor decided to change sides as well and lay towards the other man. 

“I’ve always had trouble sleeping. Something about the silence. It’s unsettling.” Yuuri started. He chuckled a bit as he shifted around in the covers. “I felt like I slept better with the bombs going off.”

“I understand,” Viktor replied. “I’m used to it. I pass out usually right when I’m ready to sleep.”

“Lucky you.”

“Doesn’t mean I stay asleep, however.” Viktor mumbled to himself. Yuuri sat up a bit in his cot and the dog at his feet whined at the motion. 

“It’s okay, Makka.” He murmured and caressed his coarse hair. The storm hadn’t sounded off in awhile, but Viktor could detect the pitter patter of rain hitting the roof. He expected the storm to be fiercer, but it lulled gently in the night.

“I haven’t seen a dog in ages. Where did you find him?” 

“He was here when I arrived. Scared the shit out of me when I broke into the church. He ran right up to me and knocked me over.” Yuuri said sweetly as Makka swished his tail in excitement. Yuuri cooed at the dog a few more times before swinging his feet to the ground. He padded hesitantly over to a cupboard and clanked around for a few seconds. He exclaimed happily before wadding back over to the cots. Viktor sat up in his own bed to make room for a sitting area. Yuuri uncorked a bottle and took a heaping sniff from it. 

“Jesus, that’s strong.” He mumbled. 

Viktor tested the scent of the liquid and chortled. “Lightweight,” 

“I’d kill for some Don Perignon right now.”

“Yuck! What’s the point of drinking if not to get completely fucked up?” Viktor snickered as he snatched the bottle up. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a proper drink. Most alcohol had been raided with all other supplies for cleaning wounds and disinfectant. It was such a luxury to be able to indulge in some whiskey. He took a heavy pull from the bottle and exhaled contently as the drink raced down his throat. Yuuri stared in awe at the action.

“Jesus,”

“I spent many years in the military. We had nothing else to do, but drink. Plus I’m Russian--high tolerance, you know?” 

“I’d say so.” Yuuri said as he took a smaller swig from the bottle and handed it back to Viktor eagerly. “So, what did you do in the military?”

“War photographer. I’d take photos for the Commies back home that want to glorify the service. I was discharged a year before the bombings.” Viktor explained easily. Yuuri raised an eyebrow in question and leaned back against the crumbling wall behind him. His feet dangled comically off the side of the bed. Viktor didn’t realize how short the other man was. He did note he was drastically taller than him, but it made him laugh almost silently to himself.

“Discharged? What did you take a incriminating photo?” 

“Something like that. More like a photo was taken of me.” 

“Oh, I was just making a joke.” 

“Shit happens.” Viktor stated and took another swig off the bottle. He took a few gulps much to Yuuri’s surprise and passed it back over. “You said you worked in Hollywood?”

“Yes. I did makeup for the actors, and I would do their stunts as well.” 

“So, you would be the guy jumping out of cars and doing the fight scenes?”

“Exactly!” Yuuri said with a hiccup bubbling at the back of his throat. 

“How did you get into something like that?” 

“Well, in college I majored in dancing and stage acting. I, um, have really bad performance anxiety--so any lead rolls went to prettier, more charismatic men.” Yuuri said with a meek voice. Vikor sighed with a grimace and patted the blankets next to him. Yuuri seemed confused by the action, but Viktor quirked his fingers in a come hither motion. Yuuri scooted his body closer to the Russian, and the larger man wrapped his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. 

“You shouldn’t take that stuff to heart. I think they’re wrong.” He whispered with a flirtatious tone edged to his voice. Viktor could feel the whiskey warming his body and his attitude. He knew when intoxicated he tended to break out of his shell more. He used to be so open and chaotic, but with impending doom hiding behind every corner he locked that part of himself up. Something about Yuuri being so open with him was cracking the surface about that. Or it could have been the alcohol. He’d blame it on the booze for now.

“You lie.”

“I told you I wasn’t lying earlier. I still am not.” Viktor retorted before slinging the bottle back once more. Yuuri rolled his eyes and mimicked Viktor’s swig after he was passed the bottle. The smaller man sputtered at the sensation and Viktor barked out a laugh. 

“Don’t get too crazy, Yuuri.” He let one of his hands go out to caress the inky tresses of Yuuri’s hair. How long had it been since he was this carefree with someone? How long had it been since someone else touched him? He couldn’t even recall. Yuuri leaned further into his embrace and hummed out in delight at the comfort. 

The mood shifted however as they sat in silence. Their breathing seemed to mesh together and match the same rhythm as they lazily stared into the pitch dark. 

“I’ve been so lonely. Thanks for showing up, Viktor.” 

“You should thank Christophe.” Viktor slurred back as he pulled away from Yuuri to lay on his back. Yuuri glanced over to the man and placed a gentle hand on Viktor’s stomach. His muscles tensed up at the feeling but he relaxed once Yuuri’s calloused fingers traced his abdomen listlessly. 

“Who’s Christophe?”

“This guy I met along the border. He was traveling with friends from Geneva.” Viktor replied as he threw his forehead over his eyes. He exhaled heavily, but it was followed by a rogue laugh. Yuuri was alarmed by the noise and even jumped back slightly at the sound. 

“He was so eccentric. I could write a whole book about him. First thing he did to me was grope my ass and said, ‘You’re too pretty to be arm deep in this piece of shit, let my husband fix it while we have some fun.’ I feel bad for his husband.” The switching between his harsh Russian accent and his musical French ripped a laugh out of Yuuri. Viktor beamed at his handy work. 

“Oh, um . . . that sounds . . .”

“I learned later he was just kidding. They did invite me to a threesome, however.”

Yuuri flushed at the words and Viktor chuckled while sitting up on his elbows. His right arm left the bed, and he let his fingertips find the edge of Yuuri’s face. He traced the prominent outline of his jawline and let his hand rest gingerly on the other man’s cheek.

“Viktor, what are you doing?”

Something about his innocence and the way he stuttered at such a fruitless word. Viktor shook his head to himself and leaned forward more into Yuuri’s space. He could hear the man’s breath hitch as he drew closer. The hint of alcohol between them was heady and intoxicating in its own right. 

“You’ve never thought about a threesome?”

“Yes, I mean, no. I just---”

“You’re adorable. If you were at a bar I would’ve have definitely chatted you up.” Viktor snickered with a snort. He tried to cover up the noise with a cough, but it didn’t fool Yuuri.

“You’re cute when you laugh. You should do it more often.”

“Not many jokes are being thrown around these days.”

“You just haven’t found the right person to partner up with then.” Yuuri retorted while poking Viktor’s nose. Viktor used his strength to yank the other man down to the bedding with him. The cot groaned under both of their weight, but Viktor ignored it. Damn the cot for all he cared at the moment. He curled easily into the Russian’s side and laid his head on his brawny chest. 

“I think my body has been deprived of human touch.” Yuuri murmured as he kept playing with the skin across Viktor’s chest.

“Hmm, no wonder Christophe offered up the threesome. I do have lovely skin.”

Yuuri swatted his chest playfully. “Have you always been this egotistical?”

“I’m an artist. Aren’t we all vain?”

“So, you believe Leonardo Da Vinci was vain?”

“His subjects might as well have been. Have you seen the Mona Lisa?”

“No, but I would like to.”

“I can’t believe it’s all gone.” Viktor said. “Well, parts of it.”

“Maybe they could have protected all the paintings? We can hope, right?”

“I’d have to see it with my own eyes.” Viktor stated as he dug his hands back into the Japanese man’s hair.

“Let’s go. I want to see it.” Yuuri sleepily replied.

Viktor sat up slightly and maneuvered the smaller man to his stomach. He thought on his words. What about the safe haven? He knew Christophe wasn’t lying by the photos he was shown. He could live a carefree life in the stronghold. . . he could settle down and write again. 

But what was the point of writing if he had no content to spin a tale about?

“Let’s go, Yuuri. I want you to see the Mona Lisa again. It’s . . . Breathtaking.” He fondly said as he half smiled down at the man. Yuuri with a newfound glint behind his amber eyes grinned and nodded eagerly.

What could he lose at this point in his life? He was just a nomad writer without a story. What’s an author without a damn story? So, he was going to make his story and he never minded adding characters to the adventure. Especially when they were warm, kind, and. . . _Real._

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Klicks is a term used for kilometers
> 
> I had a lot of fun with this little one shot. I might add a chapter later but I'm not focused on it right now. This was a break from my Mafia AU and I may revisit this one day with a follow-up chapter. I think I spent more time researching distances between the real locations in this story to make sure it was accurate than writing it. Lol. 
> 
> As always comments and kudos are appreciated. 
> 
> Come scream with me at https://aphoticwriter.tumblr.com


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